


Tainted Blood

by stories_in_my_head



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Cheating, Child Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Same-Sex Relationship, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Out of Character, Religious Conflict, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-01-31 13:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18592027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stories_in_my_head/pseuds/stories_in_my_head
Summary: The Empress Rey has performed her duty, providing the Empire with a male heir.  The Emperor Poe and his consort loved their little boy, but are broken-hearted to learn he was gravely ill.  Every healer in the land have been summoned to treat the Crown Prince, to no avail.  When conventional healing failed to provide, the desperate Empress sought the services of a mysterious monk known to perform miracles.  Little did the Emperor and his Empress know of the repercussions inviting this holy man into their lives, at a time of brewing rebellion and their relationship with their subjects, and with each other, are on shaky ground.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HouseDadam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseDadam/gifts).



> Hello and welcome to my trashy, historically inaccurate and medically unsound retelling of events that may or may not have occurred. When the lovely people at TWD House Dadam came up with the collection, the image of a TFA Interrogation Scene Kylo sprang in my mind. 
> 
> Many liberties were taken in the writing of this fic, and I would like to remind that this fic will deal with sensitive topics such as religious conflict, infidelity and death.

 

By the Grace and Aid of the Almighty, Poe Dameron, Emperor and Sovereign, strode majestically over the familiar marbled path within the  private wings of the Imperial Palace.  He was flanked by two men, their attire and proud countenance proclaiming their elevated status in the Imperial Court.   

 

“Any improvement?” The handsome, dark-haired ruler inquired of the man on his right. 

 

“The bleeding has...lessened, praise the Almighty, Your Imperial Majesty.”  The man, Finn, replied with his usual effusiveness. The ruler's attractive features tightened.  The state of the Crown Prince's condition rarely yielded good tidings. It was Finn's singular position that he was able to deliver unwanted news to the Emperor and lived to tell the tale. 

 

“And the swelling?”

 

“Not an alarming shade of purple, Your Imperial Majesty,”  Finn mumbled. The Emperor’s resigned sigh was swallowed by the sharp rhythm of their footfalls.  

 

“I have been reminded by the Empress to be grateful, even for the smallest of things.  Very well.” Poe halted before a pair of ornate doors. His attendants followed suit, stopping a respectful distance from their sovereign, ready to cater to his every whim.  “Hux, send another offering of thanksgiving to the Monastery.”

 

The aforementioned Hux bowed in acceptance.  “It will be done, Your Imperial Majesty.”

 

Poe dismissed both men with a quick nod.  He opened the doors with flourish, perturbed that his arrival was met with air and silence.  Looking around, the Emperor took precious seconds to appreciate the crown prince’s richly decorated private quarters, furnished and warmed as befitting his son and heir.   Well-oiled door hinges ensured not a squeak broke the contemplative silence. Inching his way to where his young boy lay unconscious, the Emperor’s gaze flickered at the other figure kneeling beside the bed.  Had it not been for the prayer beads worrying around her slender hands and the frantic, whispered chanting of prayers over her lips, Poe would’ve thought she was a marble effigy that graced the tombs of the dead. 

 

“Dearest wife,”  he greeted the transfixed form.  “Finn has told me the news.”

 

Her lips stopped mid-sentence, opening her eyes to gaze directly at the slumbering child.  “The healers prescribed him a tisane, to help with the pain,” the Empress responded huskily. Those were the first words Poe had heard from his wife in weeks.  Kissing the sacred beads before placing them inside a bejewelled container, her trembling fingers caressed the boy's hair away from his forehead. Poe felt something twist painfully in his chest, seeing how his son’s russet curls contrasted with the pallid tone of his complexion.  Lost in his own thoughts, he barely recognized a soft, pleasing hum carrying on in the background. 

 

The Emperor positioned himself across from where his wife was kneeling and singing softly.  Despite the warmth from the fireplace, the room held a somber, tense atmosphere.  _ Quiet as a crypt _ , Poe thought, and immediately regretted the comparison. 

 

“Your absence has been noted at Court today,”  Poe informed his wife. Despite his son’s obvious condition, the Emperor knew appearances and formalities must be kept.  It wouldn't bode well should rubberneckers out for gossip discover anything else out of place. “I apologized on your behalf, of course, as you were tending to the Crown Prince.  They send all their kind thoughts and prayers for his speedy recovery.”

 

“They are most kind, dear husband,” the Empress replied.  “I must write to the Dowager and thank her for taking my stead at the festival.  I trust everything went well?”

 

“After all these years, dearest wife, and you still call her the Dowager?  She is your mother now,” the Emperor gently reminded. “No need to thank her either, knowing what was expected.  Mama can perform the rituals even with her eyes closed and her hands bound.” 

 

A jerky nod signaled the Empress’ acquiescence, her head bowing down to plant a kiss on her son’s forehead. “Our little one was very much looking forward joining the festivities.” Rey remembered wistfully, rising smoothly to her full height before gazing at the Emperor squarely in the eyes.  “You should’ve seen him practicing with his marches.”

“Rey.”  His salutation came out in a huff. Tension squared his shoulders, hands clasped behind the proud curve of his back, the molded flesh of his chest puffing out as a result. “You know I had to personally quell that rebellion...take out the rot before it infects the whole of the kingdom.”

 

The Empress paused for a significant moment, her posture serene, hands held loosely together at the front of her gown. “And were you able to take out the rot?”

 

Poe hissed between clenched teeth.  “My second in command has kept you well informed of our progress.” 

 

His wife uttered a short, rough sound.  “From what I have read, it seems Finn has honed his skill of taking up the pen rather than the sword, “ she taunted. 

 

The ruler’s regal head whipped back, the candlelight reflecting the flare in his eyes.  “I  _ swore _ to do right by my kingdom -”

 

“ _ Our _ kingdom, Poe,” his wife railed back, challenging her husband's possessive stance.  “Have you forgotten the deal we had struck before we entered this gilded cage?” 

 

A whimper interrupted their escalating squabble.  Poe swallowed his retort, rushing to where their son slept.  The couple’s well-tread rancor was set aside to comfort their shared flesh and blood, waiting with breathless suspense for another painful moan to emerge from their son’s lips.  

 

Crown Prince Matthieu tried to open his eyes, the long, sooty lashes trembling like autumn leaves with the effort.  Encouraged by the adoring murmurings of his parents, he blinked rapidly, getting his bearings. A wide, toothy smile wreathed his face when he heard his father's voice.

 

“Papa!”  The little boy exclaimed excitedly, propping himself up by the elbows. 

 

“My cub,”  his father crooned lovingly. Poe gently braced his hands over the boy's delicate shoulders, exerting a light pressure to keep his son in a prone position. “Ahh, my boy, it's nighttime and you need your sleep.”

 

“But I've been in bed  _ the whole day. _ ” The boy complained. 

 

“Who is this insolent creature, and what has he done to my sweet, good boy?”

 

“I've been sweet and good, Papa. Truly!”

 

“Truly?” The Emperor teased his son and heir, arching a brow at his Empress, inviting her to join in their banter.  She didn’t notice his gesture, for her attention was trained solely with the young boy.

 

“I was just telling your father how my lamb practiced everyday, and was so well behaved with his tutor.” Poe heard his wife whisper raggedly. 

 

“See, Papa?  And you know Mama don’t tell any lies.”  The young prince goaded, his ashen face preening under his mother’s praises.  

 

His father grinned affectionately, ruffling the downy softness of his son’s curls.  “Try and rest, my boy.  Your godfather bought you a gift, and if you’re ready for tomorrow then you may play with it.”

 

“Can I see it Papa? Please, just a peek?”  Matthieu asked, begging adorably with renewed excitement.  His rail-thin body, growing weaker by the minute, didn’t resist when his father tucked him back under the luxurious quilt.

 

“Tomorrow,”  his father said firmly, wrapping him gently so that no pockets of cold air could penetrate, this small act of fatherly domesticity recognizable to every parent, peasant or noble alike.  “Close your eyes, my cub, and dream of things your little heart desires.”

 

“I’d like a boat, Papa, so we can sail, you and I.”  The boy imagined.

 

“And leave me on my own in this big, drafty castle?” Rey asked, a look of mock horror in her face.

“You can’t join us Mama, only the men go out on adventure, like Papa and Uncle Finn,”  her son chided innocently. “But I will write, Mama.”

 

“Do you swear to never forget to write to your poor Mama, my lamb?”

 

The young boy nodded solemnly.  “I promise Mama. I will even promise not to be too cross when Monsieur Akbar corrects my grammar, so I can write to you better.”  He sighed deeply, closed his eyes and nodded off to sleep, missing the inscrutable look passing between his parents. 

 

Both were within arm’s reach, able to provide comfort and reassurance, sharing the burden of hopelessness in seeing their young son so gravely ill.  Nonetheless, they held their positions. Poe’s hands were fisted firmly on his side, while Rey’s wrapped around her waist. Two parallel lives, bridged only by the presence of a young, sickly boy.

 

The Emperor, who bowed to no one, knelt at his son's bedside. His hand, unadorned save for a signet ring bearing the emblem of Empire, rested above the boy's chest. He sought succor of his anxious brooding from his son's peaceful repose.  Panic rose on his chest when he found difficulty in detecting the child's breathing beneath the layers of clothing and linen covering his weakened body. 

 

Poe pressed on as he could dare, exhaling relief when he felt the thrum of a heartbeat, light as a feather. He caught the dulcet tones of his wife returning to prayer, and joined her in hushed recitation. He felt his eyes sting before warm tracks of tears fell on his face. Swallowing painfully, he choked back a sob.  He was blinking through the wetness gathering within his eyes when Rey's hand reached over. Poe noticed the bird-like limb wavering, once or twice, until it finally settled above his wrist. The Emperor nodded slightly, and his Empress took it as an acknowledgement, wrapping her hands firmly over his wrist as they continued their desperate supplication. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Yes, it's me! Hope you liked the first chapter of this fic. I knew it wasn't much and thank you very much for your appreciation. 
> 
> Last time, we were introduced to the Emperor and Empress, Finn and Hux, and the heir to the throne, a bright yet gravelly ill boy named Matthieu. 
> 
> Allow me to introduce the Fox to the Henhouse (winks).

 

The congregants exhaled a collective sigh when the celebrant concluded the service. Rey had to chastise her fidgeting son more than usual during the long ceremony, the guilt for restricting his movements warring with the duty to remind him of his manners, ill or not. 

 

The Emperor and his retinue genuflected before gliding away from the cathedral, a pageantry of perfumed elegance, eager to enjoy the spring sun warming over the lavish, well-rendered garden surrounding the holy edifice.  Poe led the procession with Finn at his side, pushing the Crown Prince forward in a wheelchair. Both men were in close, intimate conversation while the young boy was busily engaged with his toy soldier, the promised present from his godfather, Finn. 

 

Rey trailed several paces behind.  Her profile remained even and neutral as she observed Poe cutting a dashing figure in his attire. He wore a light, flowing robe embroidered with depictions of spring.  The green tones of the Emperor’s clothing complemented with the earthen golds of Finn's garbs. Medals shone and winked on their chests, commendations she could admit freely were earned in the field of battle.  Not a wrinkle marred the rest of their finery, and not a speck of dirt covered the shine of their boots. 

 

“Allow me to keep you company, Your Imperial Majesty.” Her silent study was interrupted by the nasal, aristocratic voice of Armitage Hux.  Biting back a huff of annoyance, the Empress gracefully nodded her assent. 

 

“How very kind of you, Your Serene Highness,” she acknowledged the tall, red-haired man, her greeting befitting his high-born status. They resumed their stroll in a comfortable pace, behind the Emperor and his faithful companion. 

 

“I implore your Majesty to also allow me, your humble servant, to compliment your attire this morning,” Hux declared. “The recent campaign must be consuming His Imperial Majesty's thoughts, having forgotten to make note of your wardrobe.”

 

“I presumed, by your close ties with the Imperial Court, you would know the heavy burden placed on my husband’s shoulders. ‘Heavy the head that wears the crown’. Affairs of state are  _ always _ on this Emperor’s mind, Your Serene Highness. _ “   _ Her thick, sooty lashes fell, covering her eyes. Rey's coy appearance hid the flare in those hazel orbs, infuriated that Hux still found her to be the green, unaware bride Poe had plucked from the deserts of Jakku to be his Empress.  Seething with indignation, she found that Hux’s honeyed words (which were nothing more than efforts to curry her favor), wouldn’t win medals for subtlety. “We shouldn’t begrudge my husband for forgetting something so trivial as my appearance.”

 

“O-of course, Your Imperial Majesty,” Hux responded, angry welts staining his bony cheeks.  Satisfied Hux was put in his place, Rey changed tactics, thinking there's no use creating an enemy of someone powerful and influential. 

 

“Be assured, Hux, the Emperor did notice my attire.”  Contrary to insinuations, Poe did remark on her full length coat once she stepped into their carriage in the early hours.  She remembered clearly what her husband said at the start of their journey.  _ Still not used to our climate, dearest wife?   _ “He admired the color and how the wool looked warm yet lightweight, perfect for the morning chill.” 

 

“A very astute observation from the Emperor, Majesty,” he concurred immediately, eager to encourage her conciliatory mood. “I'm grateful to have this moment in your presence, Empress.” Finding said Empress shut down and raise a brow, the red-headed aristocrat scrambled to make his intentions clear.  “What I mean is, the service was incredibly long and we all need a nice long walk to shake off the numbness from our limbs!”

 

Rey simply smiled and nodded, shielding her opinions through a veneer of serenity.  “The service was especially…prolonged, but we have much to pray for. The casualties and those who survived the campaign.” _And_ _for my son,_ she thought desperately _, for my beautiful, innocent boy, who didn't deserve the fate given to him._ “Your family must be relieved you came out unscathed,” she reckoned, shifting the topic away from painful realities.  “Your parents would be heartbroken, of course, but you can imagine the tragedy that will befall your house should you perish, as the only living heir…”  

 

“A notion that has been pointed to me countless times, Your Imperial Highness,”  Hux replied testily.

 

“I see.”  Oh, Rey saw, and more, a secret smile hovering over her lips, immediately sensing the reason behind his prickly admission.  “Tell me, Your Serene Highness, and please do not be bashful about these matters. Have you…thought about settling down? Has no maiden from the Families warmed your heart?”  It had been the custom for the nobility and aristocracy to choose a spouse only from the Families, a group who are directly descended from the first Emperor. Poe was descended from the firstborn son, while Rey descended from a younger sibling.  “Or are you, like my husband before we were married, a confirmed bachelor?” 

 

Hux took a baleful glance towards the Emperor and his second in command, who were occupied entertaining the Crown Prince.  “I can assure you, Your Imperial Majesty, the reasons for my unmarried state are...different from the Emperor’s,” he reassured Rey with gritted teeth, an unspoken truth settling between them.  “I have a lady in mind, yet my parents deemed her unsuitable.”

 

“Is her reputation in doubt?”

 

“No! Her reputation is impeccable, although Father has strongly suggested I choose only a lady from a family who are of our equal stature in court.”    

 

The Empress uttered a non-committal sound, a fragment of pity niggling in her chest for his predicament.  Being born into it meant your choice of a spouse was restricted to houses that are of the Family. Where Armitage was born into belonged to that smaller, rarefied air where only the Imperial Family outranked them.  What Brendol Hux was asking his only son was next to impossible! Rank and stature weren’t the reason the Emperor chose Rey as his bride. After all these years, she still felt the blend of trepidation and self-doubt when she heard for the first time what Poe asked of her, as a wife and as an Empress.  

 

“I am sure that when your parents see you happy and content with her, they will realize the foolishness of their advice.  Where are they, by the way?”

 

“My parents?”  Hux asked, opening his mouth, but closing it before uttering any more words.  Rey was perplexed at the man’s sudden change of behavior. He slowed his pace, away from the Emperor but still ahead of the rest of the pack, looking over and sideways as if to reassure himself they had no other person nearby.  “They have decided to...worship at the new monastery near our estate.”

 

While her every waking moment was consumed with the Crown Prince, Rey heard snippets about a breakaway sect had set up a new monastery.  Had she been alone, she would have snorted in derision, pondering how a group thought of to be peaceful and gentle weren’t spared of petty arguments and differences of opinions.  “The...Order? Is that how they are called?”

 

“First Order,”  Hux corrected. “They believe the walls around this Monastery symbolize the Faith's closed-minded view of other forms of worship, against the Empire's policy of religious tolerance.”

 

“I have always been comforted by the aid and guidance the Faith has given to me through all these years,”  Rey attested firmly. “Do not judge this institution because of some bad apples among their hierarchy.”

 

“I don’t doubt your belief in the Almighty, Empress.  What the Order espouse is an  _ alternative _ to the restrictive teachings of the old ways. And there’s something else, something that might interest you.” Hux urgently divulged. “The abbot of the new monastery, Snoke, took in a new monk, said to have the ability to perform...miracles.  Proof that the Almighty favors their sect. He might be of help to cure the Crown Prince.”

 

Rey closed her eyes and stood still for a moment, then proceeded with her relaxed and easy steps, stopping here and there to admire an early blooming flower or a fresh shoot. From a casual observer’s viewpoint, the Empress moved with the poise and finesse of a swan, slicing through the tranquil waters with nary a ripple.  Hux looked pedestrian beside her, a red rooster clucking awkwardly, his gawkish movements of place among the well-manicured garden. 

 

“Hux.” Rey uttered huskily. “Do you know how old the Crown Prince is?”

 

“He would be ten years old this year, Empress,” he guessed. 

 

She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “And how long has he been ill?”

 

Hux took more time to answer, his brow furrowing, wondering where this line of inquiry would lead. “Since he was a babe, Empress,” he replied quietly. 

 

“And do you have any idea how many healers were summoned to look into our son?”  Hux's Adam's apple bobbed continuously. Sensing his hesitation, Rey stepped forward, closer into his personal sphere, more than what was allowable or proper. “Care to hazard a guess, Your Serene Highness?”

 

The ginger-maned nobleman took a step back, placing distance between himself and the Emperor's wife. “M - my estimate will miss the mark, Empress.”

 

“Scores of men, Hux. Doctors, healers, medicine men,” Rey enumerated, contempt dripping in her voice. “They examined my son. Tested, checked, probed and prodded this weak boy, almost to the point of pain - “

 

“I am sure they were performed for a purpose,” Hux suggested, expelling a cough when his voice came out high and weak. 

 

“Do you think me so dim-witted not to have thought of that? It was the only thought I clung to, as I allowed those  _ charlatans _ to experiment while my little son screamed through every procedure,” the young Empress hissed, righteous anger flickering within her eyes. “Not one of them found a cure. Oh, some have alleviated his pain, for a while, and then it will come back again, twice as powerful as the last! May the Almighty strike me dead before I allow another to raise my hope and dash it to pieces.”

 

From the corner of her eyes, Rey found a group starting to gather, curious as to what the Empress was heatedly discussing with the nobleman.  Thinking on her feet, she bestowed her audience with a calm smile and linked her arm with Hux's. She resumed her casual procession, using these moment of silence to calm frayed nerves.  Thoughts of how her son bravely took on his illness unfailingly sent her emotions in a tailspin. Biting her lip, she willed for the tears threatening to spill from her eyes to dry up, to carry on with this ridiculous charade of being the quiet, uncomplaining Empress.    

 

“Please forgive me, Your Serene Highness. You didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of my outburst.”  She resumed their conversation after regaining a tranquil state of mind. “When you’ve decided to marry and have children, I hope you look back and understand this was but a rumination of a frustrated parent.”

 

“You do not need to apologize or explain, Your Imperial Majesty.” Hux reassured his Empress. “It is I who should apologize, to have boldly presumed to intimately know the state of the Crown Prince.”  His words sounded gallant, but Rey knew Hux was no fool. The aristocrat's own mind was certainly occupied with how to take advantage of her spot of weakness, leading her confidently, inextricably, by the crook of his arm. “I might've failed in helping, Your Majesty, but perhaps.. You could help with mine?”

 

A clammy dread soured in her belly.  Hux's silkily worded remarks were deliberately vague and prone to serious misinterpretation.  Rey needed to tread carefully, to formulate an equally ambiguous answer, keeping her confusion and panic hidden through a Madonna-like composure.  “I am powerless to help you, on my own devices,” she demurred. 

 

Hux deliberated her comment, his face betraying nothing.  “The Emperor thinks highly of you, Empress. You have his ear.”

 

Rey covered her breath of relief with a light, airy laugh.  “Tell me what bothers you, and I will put in a good word with the Emperor.”

 

“It’s not a ‘what’, Empress,” Hux clarified.  “It’s a ‘who’.” He quietly named his request to the Empress as they walked lazily along the garden.

 

\--0--

 

The Crown Prince’s illness returned, catching Rey and the Court unaware while the Emperor and Finn were away, enjoying the mild weather hunting.  She sent trusted servants to fetch her son’s healers. Matthieu’s condition came back quicker than expected, and her son barely recovered from the last episode.  He desperately needed to be healed, yet none of the healers could provide treatment, and could only prescribe salves or medication to treat his symptoms. 

 

“Mama,” her little boy cried out during the night, his pain and suffering encapsulated in that lone word.  Rey, as always, stood vigil by his side, calming him, singing to him, soothing him in ways she had learned over the years.  Pouring out everything she had to give to her son, Rey left no reserves to draw upon. 

 

It wasn’t enough.  Rey checked on the gauzes she applied over her son’s wounds and immediately scented a sharp, metallic tang.  What was ivory fabric was now a dark, purplish red band. The bindings were so soaked with his blood it stained past the silk covering of his bed.  Her son was turning for the worse. She demanded fresh gauze from her attendants and wrapped it over the red-stained material, fearing removing them might cause fresh wounds to appear.  She bound him tightly as well-known prayers of the Faith tumbled shakily over her lips. 

 

Panic came in crashing waves, drowning everything, washing away her confidence, her optimism, her  _ faith _ .  All that remained in the wreckage were her doubts and fears.  Something deep inside cautioned Rey to take another chance, to roll the dice one more time, or her son might slip away from the living before the sun rose.  She rushed to open the door and found Armitage Hux leaning slovenly on the wall, a book in one milquetoast hand. 

 

“Send for your monk, not a moment longer!”  Rey didn’t wait for Hux to acknowledge her request, closing him off and returning to her son’s bedside, applying pressure towards the gaping wounds that spilled her son’s blood.  

 

The monk arrived, tall and imposing.  Rushing into the Crown Prince’s quarters without fanfare or introduction, stopping where Matthieu lay unconscious and laying a large, gloved hand over her boy’s pale face.  Through tear-stained eyes, Rey saw only dark. He brought the night with him, from the curls of his thick, unkempt hair to the simplistic rigidity of his robes. His face, pale as the waxing moon, stood in stark relief against the blackness of his appearance.  

 

Her ears picked up the sound of his voice, a tone so deep Rey was convinced those murmurings came from the Devil himself, lording within the bowels of eternal damnation.  The Empress tried to understand what he was whispering over her son, the litany of words were like no other prayer she had known before. She remained transfixed as her gaze found a pair of lips, its size and coloring so unnatural in a man.  His upper lip was shaped like a winsome heart, while the undercurve of the bottom lip dipped low, hinting at generosity and plumpness. In the flickering candlelight, his lips appeared tinted with the finest of wine, sweet and tart.

 

He raised his head without warning.  His eyes were molten and bright, full of fire.  Throughout her life, Rey was used to being looked upon with mild consideration or indifferent respect.  Never had she been seen with complete and utter focus. The monk never ceased with his mutterings while observing her with a  _ thoroughness _ of regard.  A shadow of a smile passed over those expressive lips, as though he discovered a delectable secret. 

 

The  _ holy man’s _ behavior has crossed a line, and he sorely needed a lesson in manners while in the presence of the Consort. Yet Rey did nothing, and said nothing.  She was like an object pinned to the wall, robbed of speech and movement by his unwavering stare. 

 

His irises began to enlarge, enveloping the amber edges, releasing Rey from their hypnotic grasp.  A sense of shame flooded her. Her son was at death’s door and here she was, beset by the pretty eyes of a man devoted to serve the faithful.  A man  _ not _ her husband.  She shook her head, castigating herself for that fleeting insanity.  Looking down, her son remained unconscious, but breath was stolen from her, again, when color bloomed in Matthieu’s cheeks.  Her elegant hands reached for the covers, gasping when she discovered the newly wrapped gauze was clear of blood. 

 

Her son would make it through the night.                          

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [P_Dunton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/P_Dunton/pseuds/P_Dunton) for your feedback and suggestions.
> 
> Thank you also to [MyJediLife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyJediLife/works), Dadam Secret Keeper and Writer Extraordinaire, for beta'ing this work.


End file.
